


Bare

by SassyEggs



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-18 19:51:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3581796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SassyEggs/pseuds/SassyEggs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the beating in the throne room, Sandor tracks down his cloak.</p><p>****Some strong language</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bare

**Author's Note:**

> Very first fanfic ever.

_Ass_.

Sandor shook his head.

 _Fucking little prick_.

He was still reeling from what he had seen in the throne room, what _everyone_ had seen in the throne room.  And as much as he hated the Imp, he was glad he’d come in and put a stop to the spectacle.  He’d saved the girl, but he’d saved Sandor, too, cause he had been seconds away from slamming his fist into the boy king’s face.

 _Would’ve wound up with my head on a spike_.  At the time he would have been happy to do it.  How long was he supposed to let it happen without doing anything?  Her cries of pain had been agonizing enough, but then seeing her bare, eyes wild with terror…  Just the thought made him want to hit somebody.

When he had finally been dismissed, he strolled nonchalantly out of the throne room as if he were looking for a drink, but he headed directly to her chambers instead.  He had to get his cloak anyway; he may as well see how she was doing.

He paused outside her door, listening for sounds, but heard nothing.  He quietly knocked on the door.

“Lady Sansa,” he called, voice flat and professional.  No answer.

He tried the handle and found the door yielding.  He leaned into the opening and called “Little bird?  I need my cloak.”  When there was still no answer, he stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.

She was sleeping in her bed, hair cascading about her on the pillow, lips pink and parted.  And spread out over her, pulled up to her chin, was his white cloak.  He had never seen anything more…perfect; she looked like a painting, like something someone had imagined then brought to life.

Standing there, in her room, he had no idea what to do.  He didn’t want to disturb her- not after what she just went through- but he really did need his cloak.  He finally decided he would just carefully remove his cloak, replace it with blankets, and hope she didn’t wake up.  He stepped towards her.

Her eyes opened at his approach and she sat up quickly, clutching the cloak to her chest.  And he could see… _her_.  Bare shoulders, bare arms, and her pulse beating wildly in her exposed neck.  And he saw fear, too.  _She’s afraid of me_.

No, that wasn’t it.  She was afraid, but not of him, not really, he could see it right there in her eyes.  And after a few heartbeats, her fear ebbed away and she smiled.

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

She was relieved when she was finally returned safely to her room, still wrapped indecently in his white cloak.  Handmaidens had rushed in immediately but she had sent them away; she just wanted to be alone and sleep.  Gods, what she wouldn’t give to be able to just go to sleep and never wake up.

Relief and sorrow and exhaustion washed over her as soon as she was alone.  She removed her ruined dress but didn’t bother with a new one before climbing onto her bed- she just couldn’t muster the energy to care anymore.  And she didn’t know why, what it meant, but she covered herself completely with his cloak and allowed herself to drift quickly to sleep.

And then suddenly he was there.  She’d had a feeling of being not-quite-alone and had opened her eyes to see him approach.  Seeing him didn’t bother her; the knowledge that she was naked under his cloak _did_ bother her, though, and she had sat upright quickly without even thinking.

She saw the surprise on his face, his mouth open as if to say something, eyes wide in shock.  But the thing she noticed most was what she _didn’t_ see on his face:  anger.  Gone was the disinterested expression, the eyes boiling with rage.  He was just looking at her, like a normal person, as exposed to her as she was exposed to him, and it warmed her enough to make her smile.

“My lady, are you…”  A handmaid was suddenly standing in the door, and she was not pleased with what she saw.  “What are you doing here?” she demanded of Sandor.

She could see the clouds roll back into his eyes as he twisted his mouth in irritation.  “I’m here to get my _cloak_ ,” he growled at the handmaid.

The handmaid walked towards Sansa casting a glance at her bare skin before turning an accusing look at the huge man.  “What did you do to her?”

“Nothing,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

“It wasn’t him,” she spoke up.  “It was the king.”  The handmaid gave her a disbelieving look but Sansa shook her head.  “It was Joffrey.  Ask anyone.  There were plenty of people there.” 

The handmaid looked like she still didn’t believe it, but Sansa was not interested in arguing about it and turned her attention to the man in her room.

“I’m sorry, I can’t return your cloak right now,” she said with as much dignity as she could.  “I’ll return it by the end of the day…” she trailed off.  She was going to add “ser” but remembered not to.

She held her head up without meeting his eyes, but she could see him nod slowly before leaving the room in silence.  She flopped back down on the bed and cried again while the handmaid found her something to wear.

 


End file.
